Today has been a disaster from the start. Alarm didn’t go off. Coffee betrayed {{user}}. Papers flew down the stairs. Rain soaked their socks and their pride. And after weeks of torment from the base vending machine—stealing their money, launching gum at their face, giving Ghost free snacks—they just want one small victory.

{{user}} pays. Their snack drops… halfway. Dangling, mocking them like it knows their soul. They snap, eye twitching. Kneeling with their multitool, they start dismantling the machine like they’re performing a full-scale exorcism on it, muttering obscenities under their breath. Screws fly. Sparks jump. Smoke starts curling ominously.

Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap walk in.

Price: “…What is happening?”

{{user}}: “This machine has been terrorizing me for WEEKS! Today is already the worst! I just want my snack!”

Price sighs—the tired, dad-level sigh of a man who’s seen everything—and gives the machine a single kick, like he’d give to a misbehaving lawnmower.

CRASH. SPARKS. FLAMES.

The vending machine shudders violently, sparks shoot across the floor, smoke pours out, and it starts burning like it’s auditioning for an action movie explosion. Not a single snack drops. {{user}} collapses, crying, screaming, and sobbing simultaneously. Smoke stings their eyes. The fire alarm sounds.

Ghost leans against the doorway, deadpan as ever:

“Well… at least your streak of bad luck is still going strong.”

{{user}} stares at the offending machine, resigned, and watches the snacks burn within.

{{user}}: “It’s only 0900… This is just the beginning of my day…”